The Little White Stork - ABANDONED
by quinningatlife
Summary: ABANDONED - The gods will walk among us once more. The angels shall wail their siren call and the devils will drag their lost souls out of the Pit on elbows and knees. Sacrifices will be made and innocence will be lost. If blood stained permanently, what color would your hands be?
1. Prologue

"There once was a little white stork. He had the most beautiful feathers in the entire flock. Every day he would go down to the pond and with his friends and get dirty from the mud while playing, but afterwards he would always go back home to his family and they would wash off all the mud so his feathers could shine again.

One day the little white stork was playing by the pond alone, he heard the shouts of hunters coming from the flock and quickly ran over to save his loved ones. When he arrived there was no one around. He called out for his family, and for his friends but there was no reply. So the little white stork began walking, in hopes to find his flock. But he never did. He walked and walked until he reached another small pond. Looked at his reflection and noticed that he was still covered in mud, but when he tried to wash it off he found that it did not come away and his beautiful white feathers had been dyed a muddy brown.

The little white stork grew up to become a kind brown stork, for his family had taught him to remain polite no matted the predicament he found himself in. But, everywhere he went the kind brown stork found himself mocked and laughed at for his ugly muddy feathers. Over time the kind brown stork became less and less nice, until one day he stumbled across another pond. Bending down to drink he noticed his reflection in the water and he saw that his eyes, once pure and radiant, had dulled and were now as muddy and dark as his feathers. The once kind brown stork realized what he had become and wanted to change back.

 **But it was too late**."


	2. Chick with the Wings

It was loud, damp, dirty, and all together a disgusting place. The minuscule windows were barred like prison cells, the roof kept on leaking and it was full of different kinds of sea creatures and men, all with too much money to spend on too much alcohol. Anyone who wasn't yelling or screaming was either passed out drunk or getting there. In the center of the room, 4 tables were pushed together and stacked full of all kinds of meats and beers. A bunch of sailors surrounded the tables yelling and cheering, probably celebrating another successful Kahl hunt. Needless to say, The Mermaid wasn't exactly somewhere you'll think a prophecy would begin.

Vic sat at the bar alone. Hunched over, fur hood up and trying to stay as far away from the "party" as they could manage. They were snapped out of their brooding session when a glass hit the wood in front of their folded arms. Vic raised an eyebrow to the bartender, silently asking what the fuck she just placed before them.

"From the chick with the wings," she answered, pointing her thumb to a young lady sitting on the other end of the bar.

The "chick with the wings" blushed and brought a fist up to her temple in a silent 'hello' at Vic's glare. Vic duly noted the Kosmasian greeting before glancing back down to the glass before them. It was half full of a clear liquid and some ice.

A closer examination had Vic calling out to the bartender asking, "Is this water?!"

An amused 'yup' was the only reply.

Vic looked back to "Wings" with an eyebrow raised. She didn't seem to understand and continued to smile. Since social etiquette mandated that Vic go talk to her, they let out an exaggerated sigh and reluctantly dragged themselves over. Vic plopped themselves down next to Wings and silently looked her over. She wasn't wearing the warmest looking clothes and the vest she had on looked to be more patch than vest.

Her hair looked as if it were cut with a butter knife and unevenly ended at her shoulders, with some mildly straight bangs ending at her eyebrows. But what got Vic's eyebrows up was her hands, there were painful red burn scars littering the skin up to mid forearm. Deciding not to ask Vic let their eyes wander up to her wings, they were a light pastel pink as opposed to the normal gray that most Humms had.

After discretely checking that she had no weapons, Vic finally brought their eyes to hers. She was still politely smiling and not saying a word.

"Hey," Vic offered, the suspicion of this girl not being completely "okay" sneaking into their mind.

"Oh! Hi! I'm, um, Willow," she finally replied after a few awkward seconds, "I like your hood."

"Oh yeah, a lot of people do." Vic half-joked, a hand reaching up to feel the fur. It was the first thing Vic had ever killed: a polar bear. Vic had kept the head of the beast and had it resting on her own, the sharp canines framing their face. The rest of the skin made for a very soft and reliable cloak. The tough hide had protected her against the cold and in several fights. They wore it to remind themself for what they were fighting for; justice.

"Would you like to feel it?" Vic asked. Many children would stop them in the street and ask to do just that so they figured that Willow might want to as well.

Their prediction was correct when she enthusiastically replied 'yes!' and reached up to feel the cloak.

A few seconds into stroking the cloak, Willow let out a pained hiss and quickly withdrew her hands, clutching them to her chest. She slowly opened them a little and Vic saw that she had a thin scratch across her palm. Vic immediately understood what had happened and explained, "You must have cut yourself on one of the fangs. It's okay it doesn't look that bad and it happens with just about everyone."

Willow looked at them slightly relieved and then looked back to her hand. She stared at her cut for a while before Vic noticed that she seemed lost in thought. While snapping their fingers in front of her face, Vic let out a little anger into their voice when they said, "Hey, focus, it's a cut not the end of the world."

Willow quickly snapped her head up at this with a surprised look on her face. She looked at a Vic with wide eyes as if she hadn't ever known they were there.

"Oh! Hi! I'm Willow!" she repeated with the polite smile from before.

"... what?" Vic asked, perplexed.

Willow looked startled, "Um, sorry? Is something wrong?" She looked genuinely confused and worried. Vic just continued to stare at her intently. "Ummm..." She started, feeling self-conscious. Willow dragged her eyes across the floor and onto the opposite wall, doing all she could to avoid Vic's burning gaze. After a few tense moments she let her line of sight to return to Vic's.

Donning that blank stare and polite smile once again, Willow began once again, "Hey! I'm Willow!"

Vic was starting to get impatient. "Yeah, I know you're Willow," they snapped, "you've said that 50 times already."

"I have?" questioned Willow. Her eyes cleared up with understanding, then they closed with irritation. "Ohhhhh shoot!" she cursed, shoulders deflating and head swinging back in annoyance, "oh darn, oh darn, oh darn I did it again." She brought her head back to Vic's and apologetically explained, "This happens every time I try to talk to someone. You see, I have amnesia, anterograde. 'Short term memory loss' is what most call it."


	3. Memories

Chapter 2: Memories

"Fuck this," Vic cursed as they left the bar, storming out into the blizzard cold. Too caught up in their rage to notice they were being followed, Vic trudged through the snow whilst letting out more obscenities. Willow was left unnoticed as she silently trailed behind, her wings folded in a vain attempt warm her core.

She looked up at the rickety towers lining the street, the seemingly endless darkness stretching into each window truly reflected why this time of night was so feared. The devil's hour, a constant fear plaguing all religions. Even the most hardened alchemists shuddered at the thought of what demonic creatures lurked in the midnight shadows. But Willow felt no fear. In the little scraps of memory of her life after the accident, she could remember one such demonic creature. Details drifted in and out of the fog her memories were trapped in. A crooked smile. A baritone laugh. A name. His name. What was his name? K-

"Holy shit! Have you been following me?!" Willow was snapped out of her thoughts by a shocked Vic, "it's freezing what the fuck were you thinking?!" They wrapped their cloak around her shivering frame. "Come on we need to get you back to the pub." Willow gave a looked back to the windows, for a fleeting moment it looked as if the darkness was staring back at her, she could make our eyes, kind eyes. Willow opened her mouth to question the eyes, but was forced away by Vic before she could.

The duo entered The Mermaid quietly, both shivering from the biting cold they were previously exposed to. Vic quickly pushed Willow towards the fire, then made their way over to the bar. "Back so soon?" the bartender teased.

"Just shut up and get me hot water and a bottle of fire whiskey." Vic spat out. The bartender walked off to fetch the requested items with an amused smirk on her face. Vic made their way back over to the fire and plopped themselves down next to Willow.

"Oh hello!" she greeted, "sorry to bother but do you know whose cloak this is?"

Vic grinned tiredly and replied, "it's mine actually, but you can wear it until you're warm again."

"Oh! Well thanks …"

"Vic"

"…Vic! That's very generous of you." Willow smiled and shuffled closer to Vic, laying her head on their shoulder. Vic blushed and froze, unsure as what to do next. Luckily, their dilemma was solved when the bartender arrived with a platter holding a bowl of hot water, a clean rag, and Vic's much needed fire whiskey.

"There are noise muffling spells in each room if you decide to stay~" she whispered suggestively as she placed the items down, "but I can get you a second floor room if you think you're gonna be extra loud." Vic felt heat rise into their cheeks as they scowled at the bartender's retreating figure. She threw a wink over her shoulder before she ducked into the storage room giggling.

"Hey," Vic said softly, "the hot water's here." They nudged Willow's cheek with their knuckle. No response. Vic leaned down only to reveal that she had fallen asleep. Vic's eyes widened at this revelation and they found they had no idea what to do. After awkwardly looking around for a minute Vic decided they would have to care for Willow themself. Dipping the cloth in the now lukewarm water, they softly folded it and placed it on her forehead. Vic stared into the fire while softly dabbing the cloth, their mind began to wander as the flames danced. Vic thought of happier times, before they ran away, before their enslavement, before heaven fell.

 _"_ _Would you care, for a pear?" he giggled, presenting an apple. Vic replied, struggling to suppress their own laughter, "only if you would do a jig, for this fig." Snickering, they pulled out another apple. This action broke the dam and the pair burst out into side-splitting laughter, startling the Persian who was napping beside them. The cat, head and tail held high, smugly climbed down the tree they were stationed in. The kids continued to roll about the treehouse's floor, clutching their sides in the carefree laughter that only comes with childhood._

 _A call was heard in the distance, "Pyotr! Vic! Dinner is ready! Come home!"_

 _"_ _Race ya!" Pyotr challenged, already halfway out the treehouse. "No fair!" Vic yelled back as they practically fell out the house. The duo laughed and screamed as they ran across the field to their home._

 _The manor's brilliance was rapidly approaching, its stature struck fear in the hearts of strangers, but comfort in Vic's. The polished oaken door was engraved with thousands of intricate designs. Vic's favorite had always been the angel rising above the treetops and reaching towards the heavens. Its arm was reaching upwards while the other held a broken sword. A seer once told them the engraving was a prophecy, she declared the engraving foretold that a fallen angel would shatter the barrier between the earth and the heavens and the gods would walk among us once more. Of course, Vic's mother brushed off the witch and made certain that Vic knew to disregard such "oracles" and brush off their fabrications. However as with any child to their mother, Vic ignored her warnings and joined her father in his addicting fantasy world. The door swung open and the head butler greeted Vic and Pyotr with a kind smile and a change of clothes._

 _"_ _Come now Master Pyotr, Master Vic," he stated sharply, "we wouldn't wish to keep our guests waiting, now would we?"_

Vic snapped awake.


End file.
